So, for 18 years, Melvin compiled information on the local black bears–when they showed, up, where, what they were doing at the time–it all went into the hopper. Over the years he got to know more and more about them, and this year, he had them figured out.
There were three of us hunting, and he stationed us so that the bear would surely pass by one of us. On Monday evening, December 3, no one saw anything, but Melvin had a premonition. He knew–knew–that the bear was going to come up the ridge toward him. He could see it as clearly as if it were happening.
And the next morning, at 7:30, I heard two fast shots from where Melvin was waiting and I knew he had a bear. Melvin does not shoot twice at whitetails. It had come chugging up the ridge exactly as he had foreseen it, and he killed it on the exact spot he had envisioned. It was a fine boar, about 240 pounds.
This, friends, is what’s known as hunting.